


Lemon Cakes

by medelrey



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 00:06:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8306242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medelrey/pseuds/medelrey
Summary: Sansa's name-day is Jon's favorite holiday. It always involves her favorite desert and his, too.





	

**Author's Note:**

> back out of semi-retirement for a while. enjoy!

Sansa’s name day is always Jon’s favorite holiday. He likes to spoil her; to give her every gift she’s mentioned throughout the year and then some. He figures she deserves it, with all she’s given him; a home, three sons and a daughter, a crown on his head and a diadem on hers.

So on Sansa’s thirty-third name day, an hour before dawn and hours before their children come bursting into their chambers to clamber into their parent’s bed, Jon quietly detangles himself from Sansa’s grasp to tiptoe downstairs. He sneaks down the back stairs of Winterfell to the kitchens, smiling as he sees the fresh batch of lemoncakes he specifically requested. He considered learning how to make them himself, but decided against it, knowing how terrible of a cook he is.

Jon latches their chamber door behind him when he makes it back to their rooms, setting the plate of cakes beside the bed. He almost hates to wake Sansa, for she looks so beautiful and without worry. The years haven’t necessarily been kind to her, but she still remains the most flawless woman Jon’s ever set eyes on. He loves her more than he ever imagined possible.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Sansa asks, not opening her eyes but smiling at her husband, “Your side of the bed’s grown cold.

“It’s your name-day,” Jon replies, brushing stray strands of Sansa’s hair away from her face, kneeling down beside the bed.

“Is that why I smell lemon cakes?”

“You always did have the worst sweet tooth,” Jon laughs, crawling into bed with his wife, gently peppering her jaw with light kisses as she turns onto her back. Sansa’s fingers tangle into his hair; carding through his ever-thick curls. She pulls him to kiss his lips, kicking the furs aside to wrap her legs around his hips.

“Did you make them yourself?"

“Gods, no,” Jon replies, speaking into her neck as he trails light kisses to her collar bone.

“What a relief,” Sansa giggles, biting her lip as Jon reaches her breasts, teeth running along her nipple.

He lightly pinches her hip with his fingers, tongue leaving a light trail down her smooth stomach, swirling a circle around her belly button. “Don’t be rude,” he chastises, scooting down and setting her leg over his shoulder. “Or you won’t get your other present.

Sansa takes a sharp breath through her nose as Jon’s breath washes over her cunt, causing her to squirm. “Yes, Your Grace,” she says with a smile.

She tastes almost as sweet as the lemon cakes he had made for her; the wetness of her cunt seeping onto his tongue as he laps at her. Jon nips at her thighs, moaning against her skin as she arches closer to him. Her fingers scrape against his scalp, yanking his mouth back to her center. “Jon,” she whimpers, digging her heel into his shoulder blade, “Right there.”

Jon eyes meet Sansa’s and she stares right back, biting her lip as she watches his tongue run circles over her clit and her wetness soak his cheeks. Sansa always loves this; the way he fucks her with his mouth like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, how he groans against her cunt and begs her to let him keep going long after the King and Queen in the North should’ve begun their day. Jon dances his fingers up Sansa’s stomach, upward until he reaches her peaked nipples, gently caressing them until she’s mewling and whispering for more.

Jon dives back into her center, his hands now gripping the outsides of her thighs. Sansa’s dripping, absolutely glistening as her wetness falls onto his tastebuds. He holds her down, running his tongue up and down her center, only pausing to trace a simple circle around her clit to make her moan and yank his hair. He wants to keep teasing her, to bring her to the very edge and then deny her, but he’s too invested in making her fall apart and taste the sweetness that is Sansa Stark.

Sansa twists her hips to the side, locking her thighs around Jon’s head to grind her cunt against his mouth. She quivers, shakes, and spits out incoherent words as Jon leaves tiny crescent shapes in her skin from his fingernails. She’ll feel his grasp the rest of the day, perhaps even into tomorrow, leaving her breathless and aching until they can crawl back into bed. She rides his tongue, losing herself in the moans that leave her lips and the sounds Jon makes as he devours her.

Sansa’s hands find their way into his hair once more, holding him right where she wants him and never letting him move. Gods, he is so good at this, she thinks, closing her eyes and writhing on the bed. Jon runs circles over her clit, knowing she’s close and she’ll come with a cry of his name. He traces her name, then his, smirking as Sansa whines in the back of her throat.

Jon keeps his eyes locked on hers as she pushes herself downward, biting down on her fist as she falls apart, coming with a start as she pulses on his tongue and whispers his name. He doesn’t stop; only coaxing her through her orgasm with gentle encouragement and licking her softly as she starts to come down. He hums against her skin, lying his cheek on her hip.

Sansa gently runs her fingers through his hair, smiling down at her husband. “Do you think I’ll have to share the cakes with the children?”

Jon laughs, kissing just below her bellybutton. “You’re Lady of Winterfell, Queen in the North, you don’t have to do anything."

Sansa laughs, reaching for the sweets. “You’re right.”

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on tumblr for updates (I've got about 6 jonsa stories in the pipeline). @mattysigh


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